


Off The Deep End, Part Two

by cuddyclothes, Flywoman, Menolly



Series: Chain Fics/Collaborations [4]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Sexual Tension, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-27 04:04:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 9,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12073152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuddyclothes/pseuds/cuddyclothes, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flywoman/pseuds/Flywoman, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Menolly/pseuds/Menolly
Summary: House, no longer hallucinating, rejects Wilson's advances, insisting they remain "just friends". This is because of what happened during House's time in Japan. Wilson despairs and disappears. The true story of House's time in Japan is revealed.  Blythe House steps in to resolve things between the would-be lovers. AU branching off from 7X23 "Moving On."Written in 2011Additional authors not on AO3: pgrabia, cellista_in_c





	1. Written by Menolly

"Trying to prove you're more pathetic than I am, Wilson? Did I make the 'restrained mental patient' thing look so much fun that you thought you'd try it too?"  
  
Wilson keeps his eyes closed, his head turned away.  
  
House limps over to him and prods him with his cane. Wilson squirms away as far as he can within the restraints so House prods him harder. Finally Wilson opens his eyes and glares at House.  
  
"Fuck off, House."  
  
House prods him again for good measure and Wilson gets angrier, tugging at the restraints that bind him to the bed.  
  
"Yeah, it isn't that great after all is it? Being helpless while people do things to you.." House taunts and then his shoulder's slump and weariness comes over his features. "What did you think you were doing, Wilson? Is this supposed to impress me? Am I supposed to come running to your side, because you're willing to die if you don't have my love? Almost dying changes nothing Wilson."  
  
"You dumped me here and then went off without a word. I haven't heard from you in a week, I didn't know what had happened to you, you might have been dead for all I knew."  
  
"So you thought you'd die too, in case I had managed to off myself? Very Romeo & Juliet of you, but pretty stupid, Wilson."  
  
"I just didn't want to live without you, without your...I blew it House, I blew up our friendship. You ran off, you left me here because of what I did."  
  
"You didn't do anything wrong Wilson, well not until the 'drink myself into an alcoholic stupor' move, and then this." He waved his cane at the bed and the restraints. "You took care of me at that place, you did what you thought you needed to do to bring me back. You might have crossed the line, hell, you jumped over it with both feet, but we've been crossing those lines since we met, I'm not going to hold that against you."  
  
House takes a deep breath, this is important, he has to make Wilson understand.  
  
"You were right. You were in my hallucination. It was you I imagined holding me on the beach, comforting me, even kissing me. But that was a fantasy Wilson, I could do that because I knew you weren't real. This is the reality. It won't work."  
  
"You don't want me."  
  
"I want you as my _friend_ , Wilson. Anything else is just too fucked up, you saw what happened with Cuddy. I was terrified of it ending and when it did, it damned near killed me. Shit, I shot myself full of experimental medicine and _cut my own leg open_. I can't risk getting that crazy again. It hurts too damn much."  
  
"We wouldn't end up like you and Cuddy, House. I'll never leave you, and I know you won't leave me. It would work."  
  
House bounces his cane up and down a few times, shakes his head. "You can't guarantee that Wilson, hell, you don't see me for a few days and look what you do. That makes me even more scared Wilson, I won't risk killing you.  
  
"House, I..."  
  
House shakes his head. "I don't want to talk about it any more. When you're better. And I don't just mean out of here, I mean when you're _really_ doing better. You've got a lot of shit to sort out, a lot of issues Wilson, too many to keep it all together, this has been a while coming but you've fallen apart. Get yourself a good therapist, get on some medication and get yourself back on track. Then, maybe, we can talk."  
  
"I've got issues. What about you? I bet you went straight back to that apartment and started hitting the Vicodin again."  
  
"I admit mine, and I'm doing something about them. I'm still off the Vicodin, I've been seeing a guy - that's where I was this last week. Fantasy land isn't all it's cracked up to be, it's nice for a while, but you can't live there all the time. You..you scared me Wilson, when I found you on the floor like that, well, now I know how you've felt. How you felt when you found me. It was all too much too quickly.  
  
I need time, Wilson, _we_ need time."  
  
Wilson slowly sinks back against the pillows, his eyes closing again, shutting House out.  
  
House limps up to him and trails a finger along Wilson's cheek.  
  
"You mean...so much to me Wilson, too much to risk losing you. Can I get them to take those restraints off now?"  
  
For a long moment Wilson is motionless but then he nods his head, just slightly, but enough.  
  
"Get well, Wilson," House murmurs, and then leaves him alone. He's done all he can.


	2. Written by pgrabia

House makes certain to visit Wilson twice more that week.  Wilson is eating and drinking again and is looking better physically, but he’s distant, answers House in monosyllables, and never smiles.  House bites his tongue, a remarkable feat for him, but beneath his forced calm are turbulent emotions.  He’s worried about the state of Wilson’s mental health and their friendship.  Neither look promising the way the things stand at present.  
  
When Wilson is discharged the next Monday, House has already returned back to work and is supposed to pick him up from the General and drive him home.  However, an new case comes in the night before and House has Thirteen pick Wilson up instead.  She returns and has little to say when House asks about Wilson.  
  
“He didn’t appear surprised or put out,” Thirteen tells him with an indifferent half-shrug.  “He thanked me, asked me in for tea but I had to decline, and that was that.”  
  
Satisfied that she is telling him the truth, House puts it out of his mind and focuses on his patient’s diagnosis.  Wilson sounds like he is fine—or, rather, as fine as he has been lately—so there’s nothing to be concerned about.  Besides, House figures that a little space between them right now may actually help Wilson come to terms with his feelings and accept that House is there for him as a friend but there can be nothing more.  
  
House doesn’t leave the hospital until some forty-six hours later when he has his epiphany and the patient is beginning treatment.  Cuddy orders him to go home and shower because he’s overripe and offending the entire hospital.  For that he hangs his boxers on the aerial of her car.  
  
He heads home, showers, changes into clean clothes and heads out to check on Wilson.  House stops to pick up Chinese food on the way to the loft.  When he gets there and knocks on the door, a wave of anxiety washes over him as he remembers the last time he was there.  There’s no answer after several tries and when House yells no one comes to the door.  Barely controlling his panic he calls both of Wilson’s numbers and is told that they are no longer in service.  
  
Mentally picturing all kinds of gruesome scenarios of what he might find on the other side of the door, House pulls out his absconded key and lets himself into the loft, where he discovers that Wilson is not only not around, but all that remains is the organ sitting in the corner of the room.  _Everything_ else is gone.  House’s heart sinks into his stomach as he goes to the organ.   
  
Taped to the cover is a note; it reads:  _Greg, I’ll always love you and I’m_ not _sorry for that.  I can’t go back to the way things were and for_ that _I’m very sorry.  I’ll miss you.  Yours always, James._  
  
“Please Wilson, not again,” House whispers, dropping onto the organ’s bench.


	3. Written by cuddyclothes

House stares around the empty loft. Wilson was even more unstable than some of the patients at Mayfield. “ _I’m_ supposed to be the lunatic,” House says to the empty air, and sighs.  He sits for a long time, watching the light in the room change color as the sun sets.  He crumples up the note and tosses it like a basketball onto the middle of the bare floor.  
  
When he gets back to his apartment, he yanks off his clothes as if they made everything happen and drops them on the living room floor.  Then he takes another long, hot shower. House is still extremely thin from the detox. He’s exhausted from working long hours. And he’s pissed.  A shower is better than breaking something, which is what House feels like doing..  
  
But the hot water makes him think of the beach. And Wilson. And making out with Wilson. And being jerked off by Wilson.  
  
“Maybe if you got some decent meds we could give it a try, but not IF YOU KEEP DOING CRAZY SHIT LIKE THIS!” House slaps the tile wall with his hand, enjoying the sting on his palm. How could he become lovers with a man who tried to die for love of him, who moved away with no forwarding address after House’s rejection, who might pull God _knows_ what stunt if they so much as had an argument over what to make for dinner? Hookers took the money and left. Cuddy did them both a favor  when she dumped him. After the initial hurt, he’d been glad to be relieved of all of the heavy lifting that went into keeping them a couple. Was it  so much to ask to have Wilson stick to the status quo?   
  
Obviously yes.  
  
He doesn’t want to lose Wilson. But even to stay friends, House needs to get his friend some help before he jumps off a bridge or something equally retarded.  
  
After he’d dried off and changed into sweat-pants and a t-shirt, he opens his phone and locates Mr. John Broward’s number. John Broward is the head of the condo board.  
  
“Is this John Broward? I’m calling about one of the condo owners, James Wilson.”


	4. Written by luridlurker

Very unexpectedly, Broward is not susceptible to bribery or threads. "Mr. Wilson expressly asked me not to give out his forwarding address. Especially not to you. I'm sorry, Mr. House," is all he says stiffly and hangs up on him.  
  
 _That unbelievable moron! Wilson that is. Broward, too, but no one can top Wilson, the uncrowned world champion of morons. Go on then, leave me!_ House fumes, his inner voice an enraged wail. _Die, if you want! See if I care!_  
  
He throws his cane through the apartment and limps off into the kitchen, yanking cabinet doors open as if he's wanting to rip them out of their hinges. He gets out a can of chicken soup and the contents are warming up on the stove after some moments of fighting with the can opener, his fine motor skills shot to the moon. Washing his fat and noodle dotted hands, he leans down and drinks right out of the tap, the water filling his stomach with a calming cold. Sobered up, House leans heavily against the counter, his head hanging low in defeat.  
  
On the counter opposite the answering machine is blinking.  
  
He's absolutely intending to ignore it as he always does, but unfathomably he finds himself in front of the AM, watching the flashing red light speculatively. If it were his ducklings, they could call again. But...but maybe it was a message from Wilson. And maybe he would never call again. Maybe he could not.  
  
House's slightly shaking finger stabs at the button and the machine comes to life, stating the date and time of the messages it recorded. Five missed calls in the last three hours, four of them dropped after a moment, just a lot of static and rustling but without a discernible word. The fifth and last message starts with the same kind of noises, making House's stomach settling down heavily with relief/disappointment.  
  
"Gregory, I tried to reach you," the tinny voice of Blythe House says into the silence. This time it's certainly disappointment that slaps House down. As much as he loves to hear from his mother, now was absolutely not the right time...  
  
"You know that I never interfered with your life's choices. Even if I were often wishing you wouldn't always take the most...complicated ones." Blythe makes a longer pause as if she has difficulty finding the right words. House's instincts are perking up, already having a suspicion where this would be going. Had Wilson called his mother, needing a shoulder to cry on? Someone who would have an open ear for the shortcomings of the miserable Gregory House? His mother and Wilson had always an uncanny rapport with each other and House has concluded long ago his mother was imagining Wilson to be the perfect son, and Wilson was wishing his own mother was more like Blythe.  
  
His mother's voice interrupts his thoughts, "Greg, as I can't reach you, I will say it on this insufferable machine, and you know how much I hate them, but maybe you will listen to it later." Again a pause, setting House on edge.  
  
"I know what has happened between you and James. And I know you are not open for his feelings for you because of what happened when you were young. Yes, I know what happened that time. And yes, I know what your father said to you. Of all the things to take to heart, why those... Anyway, I think you're making a big mistake, Gregory. We really need to talk. Call me. Or better, visit me."  
  
The machine clicks off and on the stove the chicken soup boils over.


	5. Written by cellista_in_c

House sinks into the nearest chair, staring at the answering machine. How could she possibly know about that? He never said anything. _“Not one word to your mother, boy,”_ a long-ago growl again in his ears. _“This whole business will just upset her, and you're a trial enough to her. Not one word.”_  
  
This whole thing with Wilson had nothing to to do with _that_. And she thought he was making a mistake? It was a mistake not to get involved with his best and only friend? A man who was clearly out of his mind, if recent events were anything to go by? And where did _she_ get off telling him he was making a mistake? An affair resulting in another man's child and fifty-year marriage to an abusive bastard – great credentials there.  
  
 A wave of resentment at his mother's interference propels him to his feet and back into the kitchen, where he switches off the stove with a vicious twist of his wrist. The soup is an overcooked mess – he dumps the whole thing into the sink, appetite gone.  
  
 House limps into the living room and turns on the TV, staring unseeingly at it. The bitch of the thing was that at the moment, his mother was the only lead to Wilson's whereabouts. He puts his head in his hands, feeling sick with anxiety and heartache. The stupid, stupid moron. Why did he have to change everything? All that he had accomplished was to tear them apart.  
  
It wasn't only Wilson, a voice inside him said. And House couldn't deny that, Wilson's own issues aside, House has contributed more than his share to their current estrangement.  
  
House closes his eyes and scrubs his hands over his face, then glares at the phone. He could ignore her call – and abandon Wilson to his breakdown. And he just can't do that.  
  
He dials.  
  
“House residence.”  
  
“Mom, it's me.”  
  
 “Oh, Greg, honey, I'm so -”  
  
 “Where's Wilson?”  
  
 He listens as she takes a deep breath over the line. “Greg – we need to talk about -”  
  
 “No, we don't,” he says brusquely, his hand tightening on the phone. “Whatever it is you're thinking, that has nothing to do with Wilson. He's sick, Mom, he needs medication, therapy – just tell me where he is so that I can get him help.”  
  
 “Gregory House. I know exactly what condition James is in right now, and you better believe that I also know that you have some work to do before you will be in any shape to help him.”  
  
 “I'm talking. I'm seeing a guy.”  
  
 “Mm-hm. And have you told him anything about Tom Stanton?”  
  
 House flinches, doesn't answer for a long moment.  
  
 A sigh. “Honey – you have vacation time available at work, right?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Come see me. I'll tell you where to find James then – after we've had our talk.”  
  
  



	6. Written by cuddyclothes

House’s hands are tight on the steering wheel as he drives south from New Jersey to Lexington. Tom Stanton. His stomach clenches, and he shakes his head, as if trying to get the memories out and away from him. Why did his mother want to talk about it? What was there to talk about? Why dredge up the past? House had safely tucked the memory away, and now it felt as raw as when everything had happened.  
  
House winces, remembering the playground taunts, the knowledge that he was different from all of the other kids. He doesn’t want to think about Tom. But he can’t stop thinking about Tom.  
  
****************************************

His father had been stationed in Japan. House was a young teenager. Once again he was in a strange land, in a new school on a new military base. All of the other kids were military brats.  The hierarchy of their fathers filtered down even to the elementary school. The other boys thought House was “weird,” “a walking dictionary,” “a pansy.”

Except for Tom Stanton. Tom was one year older than House, but they were in the same grade because Tom’s father, a gunnery sergeant, moved around even more than Major House. Tom and Greg became friends. Tom was short, heavy, and was also considered “weird” because he had a slight stutter. "I bet you're a virgin!" one of the other boys had sneered in the hallway, and soon after  "Fat Tommy is a virgin" was written on the wall in the boys room.

Tom and Greg spent hours together, exploring the towns around the base, each trying to gross the other one out by eating bugs, or rotten food, or in one instance House REALLY regretted, dung. He still couldn’t get that taste out of his mind.

One sunny day they went rock climbing. Sitting on the summit of the grey rocks, the two boys looked out over the military base.

“I hate it here,” said Greg.

“Me too,” said Tom. “M-maybe we could run away together. Waddya think, Greg?”

Greg grinned. “That would be the best thing ever! Nobody would know where we went.”

“We’d be alone.” Tom turned and looked at Greg. Tom’s hazel eyes were soft. “Have you ever…” he looked down. “N-never mind.”

“Ever what?” Greg felt something odd in his stomach.

"Have you ever kissed  a girl?"

"Yeah, right."

Tom kept his eyes focused on the ground. “Greg, have you ever..wanted...wanted to kiss another guy?" 

"Huh?  Are you kidding me?"

Tom blushed furiously.  "Never?"  
   
 "Never!"

"I’ve wanted to kiss you. I know that’s sick, Greg, and if you don’t want to be friends anymore—“

Greg sat, staring out at the bleached military buildings, the Marines going about the daily business. He picked out one Marine to look at who was unloading supplies from a truck, a small figure far away. “I still want to be friends.”

“What about…” Tom trailed off. “I’m weird.”

“Yeah, you’re weird. But you’re my best friend.” Greg looked up. For what seemed like an hour, the two boys stared at each other. Then Tom leaned forward and kissed Greg on the lips. It was Greg’s first kiss. The kiss felt so good it scared the bejesus out of him! They were guys! Guys didn’t kiss!

“No, get away from me!” Greg yelled, and gave Tom a hard push.

And suddenly Tom wasn’t there.

Greg scrabbled down and found Tom lying across the rocks. He was still conscious but barely. Greg shook him. “Come on, we gotta get to a hospital!” As he carried Tom down, Greg yelled for help so loud he thought his own ears would explode.

If only Tom’s mother hadn’t told Blythe…


	7. Written by Flywoman

Of course, Tom hadn't told his parents that he had tried to kiss Greg. The version of the story that reached John House's ears was that his son had tried to force himself on Tom, who had injured himself while trying to get away from him.  
  
That was the occasion of Greg House's first introduction to the ice bath. "Same principle as the cold shower," his father had grunted, sitting him down in the washtub so forcefully that his teeth had clattered in his skull. The shock of the bitter cold flaring in his groin and inner thighs was like no pain the boy had ever experienced.  
  
Still, looking back, the adult House dismisses this association as far too simplistic an explanation for the terror he'd experienced when he woke to find his best friend fondling him under his hospital gown. It wasn't the fear of being caught and punished for deviant behavior that had provoked him to push Wilson away, to frantically retreat out of his reach.  
  
It was the memory of that pure, perfect pleasure that had manifested itself for one glorious moment before he had lost himself his only friend.   
  
  
  



	8. Written by Menolly

Wilson stumbles down the stairs just after lunch, dressed casually in t-shirt and sweatpants. He's spent most of the day lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to face the wreck his life has become. After House had delegated picking him up from the hospital to Thirteen he knew that their friendship was beyond salvaging. He had arranged for all his furniture and things to go into storage and driven away from Princeton with only a couple of suitcases.  
  
He'd been planning to return to his parents for a few days but half way there he decided he couldn't face them, their disappointment in him had grown with every divorce, and they hated House, and would tell him forcefully that they'd always said that House would bring him nothing but grief. There would be no comfort there.  
  
Instead he'd driven to Blythe's place and practically collapsed on her doorstop. She'd fed him hot chocolate and cookies and he'd found himself telling her everything that had happened, and much more besides. He'd extracted a promise from her not to tell House where he was and then he'd gone upstairs and collapsed into bed.  
  
"James, you're up. Good, the garden needs a lot of work. John used to keep it looking nice, but since he's been gone..."  
  
He gapes at her, open mouthed, gardening hadn't been in his plans for the day, finding a good bar had been.  
  
"I...er...I'm not much of a gardener..." he stammers out and she smiles indulgently at him.  
  
"It's not difficult dear, I'll show you where everything is. It will be good for you, getting out in the sun, you look very pale. Come with me."  
  
At her gentle urging he follows her out into the sunshine.  
  
"You...you haven't told House where I am have you?"  
  
She smiles at him.  
  
"Dear James, Greg calls me twice a year, once for Christmas, and once for my birthday. It's nowhere near either of those dates. He doesn't know where you are."  
  
Wilson isn't sure whether he's relieved or disappointed.


	9. Written by Flywoman

Blythe just knew that James would be a natural in the garden once he got over his anxiety about getting his clothes dirty. She hands him a pair of John's old work pants, grass stains ground into the knees, and before long they are kneeling in front of her favorite flower bed, heads bent close together as she shows him the differences between the desired residents and the weeds.  
  
He has good hands, gentle but firm, diligently grasping the unwelcome invaders down near the roots and ripping them out without mercy. "If you leave too much," he says, swiping at his sweaty forehead with his shirtsleeve, "will they grow back?"  
  
That's where they are three days later when a dingy Dodge turns onto their street and shudders to a halt at the curb in front of the house.  
  
Wilson goes rigid beside her, and for a second Blythe thinks that he may hide his head in the newly turned earth like the proverbial ostrich, or take off running, too fast for his crippled friend to follow. But he only turns to give her a look of betrayal so profound that she is tempted to shake him in irritation. Did he really think that she wouldn't stoop to any deception for the sake of her family's happiness?  
  
Then the car door slams, and House is lurching towards them, his face an unreadable mask in the harsh overhead light of the noon sun.


	10. Written by pgrabia

Wilson makes to get up to run away, but Blythe’s hand on his upper arm stills him.  He levels a glare on her, but she is unaffected by it.    
  
“How could you?” he whispers.  
  
“James, dear,” she answers, gently admonishing, “he was worried; he cares about you.”  
  
“House doesn’t care about anyone but himself,” Wilson tells her but even as he says it he knows that deep down it isn’t true.  
  
Blythe raises an eyebrow at that.  “After all these years, you don’t honestly believe that, do you?  You can’t run away forever, and my son is too tenacious to give up.”  
  
Opening his mouth to respond to that, Wilson is prevented when House speaks, standing a couple of yards behind them.  
  
“You ran crying to my mother?”  House is trying to hide the concern and relief in his voice with sarcasm but isn’t successful.  “That’s sad, even for you.”  
  
With a sigh, Wilson stands up, brushing his hands on his pants before offering one to Blythe.  They both turn to face House.  Blythe gives her son a look of warning then gives Wilson’s hand a squeeze before going into the house to give them privacy.  
  
“I don’t need to stand here and be insulted by you,” Wilson tells him, hurting.  He turns to follow Blythe inside when House grabs his arm and swings him back around.  There’s a look of wild fear in House’s eyes, not the rage he expected to see.  
  
“I didn’t know what to think when I went to your place and found that you’d left without leaving a change of address with anyone!” House nearly shouts.  “You told me you wouldn’t up and leave again.”  
  
“Well, like you say,” Wilson responds bitterly, trying to ignore the fact that where House grips him his skin is on fire, “everybody lies.  I’m surprised that you didn’t send Thirteen here to get me!”  
  
House shakes his head in utter frustration.  “Thirteen?  What the hell are you talking about?”  
  
Wilson is so tired of the deflection and game-playing.  He wants to go inside, pack his bags and get the hell out of there.  “Never mind!”  
  
He breaks the grip House has on his arm and turns to go; he only manages a single step when House grabs him again.  Angry, Wilson turns around and shoves House, hard enough to make him stumble back several steps and nearly fall.  Somehow the he manages to stay on his feet using his cane to find balance.  
  
“No!” House growls, and with surprising speed limps up to him and grabs Wilson by the shoulders, shoving him forward.  Wilson stumbles and falls face first to the ground, breaking his fall with his hands and scraping them on the concrete walkway.  Before he knows it House is on him, rolling him onto his back and pinning him.  Desperate eyes stare down at Wilson, House’s face mere inches away from his.  
  
“No,” House pants, whispering.  “I won’t let you run away again.”


	11. Written by cuddyclothes

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Wilson gasps.  "Let go of me!"  
  
House releases his grip and sits down hard on the concrete. Blythe bursts through the screen door and runs down the stairs of the porch.   
  
“Greg, James, what are you _doing_?” Blythe exclaims. “In front of the neighbors!”  
  
“Acting like a deranged limping gorilla is supposed to make me want to come back?”  
  
House drags a hand across his sweating face. “I don’t know why I did that, Wilson. “ He looked around and at Blythe. “Where’s his stuff?” he snaps.  
  
“In a storage facility in Princeton,” Wilson pants, sitting up.   
  
“You pussy. If you really meant to leave it would have been on a moving truck to…to where, exactly?” House looks at Wilson closely.  
  
Wilson looks down. “I haven’t got anywhere else to go. Blythe offered to have me stay here until I felt a little steadier.” He looks up and glowers at Blythe. “I _thought_ we had an agreement.”  
  
Blythe folds her arms. “My apologies, James, but you simply cannot keep doing these things to my son. Greg loves you, you know.”  
  
“M-om!” House stares at her. So Wilson’s not the only one who’s being betrayed.  
  
“I’m sorry, Greg, but you are both too old to be playing these silly games with each other. Your father and I may not have had the best marriage, but we treated each other like reasonable people. Most of the time.” Her tone of voice suggests otherwise, but House lets it go.  
  
“How does she know you love me?” Wilson asks in disbelief.  
  
“She’s my mom. You don’t think I talk to my mom?”  
  
“You don’t talk to your mom. Except on holidays.”  
  
“He’s made exceptions.” Blythe shakes her head. “Now you two get up and have a seat on the porch. I’ll get us all some lemonade and cookies.”  
  
“Bring some bourbon along with that lemonade,” House calls after her. Cautiously, he and Wilson make their way to the front porch, eyeing each other in confusion.  
  
*******************************************************  
  
The lemonade poured, the bourbon added, House is about to take a deep gulp. Then he glances at his mother and takes a sip. She beams. Wilson is amazed that this is the one person House will make an effort with.  
  
“James, you don’t know what happened to Greg when we were in Japan—“ she started.  
  
“Doesn’t matter, Mom.” House’s tone is warning.  
  
Blythe looks at her son, the slight breeze waving her streaked blonde hair. “But James told me the way you’ve behaved, and you’ve told me the way James has behaved. And I think, well, maybe if we talked about what happened with Tom Stanton—“  
  
“Tom Stanton?” Wilson asks.  
  
“A guy I kissed when I was fourteen,” House snaps. “It was a one-time thing.” His gaze went to Blythe. “You know he put me in an ice bath, don’t you?”  
  
Blythe can’t meet his eyes, but she nods.  
  
“Dad locked me in the shed when he found my Playboys,” House continues. “That I can have sex with anything besides my right hand is a miracle of nature over nurture.”  
  
“I’m sorry, Greg,” Blythe murmurs. “I was a military wife, you don’t—there’s no use explaining it now. Those were father-son matters.”  
  
House grabs a cookie. Wilson takes a nervous gulp of lemonade. Blythe makes great lemonade. He’d refused the bourbon.  
  
“I’m not having a therapy session on my own porch,” House growls.  
  
“House told you he loves me?” Wilson asked.  
  
“Hey—“  
  
“Yes. A _long_ time ago.” Blythe smiles at Wilson. “He was a bit the worse for drink, and talking on and on about how handsome you were, how jealous he was of you, the way everybody liked you so much.”  
  
“Oh, God, Mom…” House buries his head in his hands.  
  
 “Then, he said he loved you. I asked him, ‘Greg, do you mean that?’ and he said yes. Back then I thought it was the liquor talking, but after all of the fuss lately I believe he meant it, whether he knows it or not.  Of course marrying Lisa was what I expected, but this is our modern world." She gives an uncomfortable laugh.  
  
 "You _said_ that?" Wilson asked again, anger in his voice.  
  
 Do you think the two of you could talk like civilized adults?” She stands and puts her small hands on the table. “Blythe’s rules: no shouting, no hitting, no breaking anything, no throwing furniture.” She pauses. “And please be careful of that lemonade pitcher, Greg, it was your grandmother’s.”  
  
With that, she turns, walks into the house and closes the screen door behind her.  
  
House and Wilson stare at each other.  
  
“Remember, I can hear loud noises inside!” Blythe calls.


	12. Written by cellista_in_c

“She has ears like a bat,” mutters House.  
  
“My mom does too.”  
  
“Must be a mom thing.”  
  
Wilson half-smiles, then chances a glance at House. “Er...so, I guess we're supposed to talk.”  
  
 House takes a large gulp of lemonade. “I said that we could talk after you got help, but then you ran off instead.”  
  
 “Well, there didn't seem like any point if you were just going to cut me out of your life!”  
  
 “What makes you think I did?”  
  
 “You didn't pick me up from Princeton General!”  
  
 “For Christ's sake, I had a case! I'm sorry if you felt neglected, but I was busy keeping a teenager from throwing up her stomach lining!”  
  
 “Because your puzzles always come first,” Wilson says bitterly.  
  
 “Knock it the hell off Wilson. You know I put the job before almost everything else, especially if it's just something like giving you a fucking ride home. You know I'm not going to change. If you can't deal with it, then you have no right to be asking me for a _relationship._ ”  
  
 They glare at each other. Wilson is the first to look away. “I'm sorry,” he mumbles.  
  
 House sighs, gulps down the last of his lemonade and pours himself a shot of bourbon. “Okay, this isn't working.”  
  
 “What isn't?”  
  
 “This power struggle between you wanting a relationship and me just wanting to be friends.”  
  
 “You love me,” Wilson says. “And I love you. What's so wrong about us being together?”  
  
 “What's wrong is that we both suck at relationships.”  
  
 “But this would be different.”  
  
 “You're an idiot. On what, exactly, are you basing that optimism, Wilson?”  
  
 “Can you just try to get past the rationality for once in your life and go by...well, by what your _heart_ is telling you? Can't you just feel that what we have is different than any other relationship we've had? That this would make both of us happy?”  
  
 “Happiness is fickle. It doesn't last and then you're worse off when it's gone. You and I would fail and I'd lose everything. I'd rather be miserable and your friend than end up being even more miserable and alone.”  
  
 “You're wrong, House. This would last.”  
  
 “You don't know that.”  
  
“I feel sure enough about it to be willing to take the chance.”  
  
 House is silent for a long minute, and when he meets Wilson's eyes his are full of fear. “You're asking...so much Wilson.”  
  
 “I know,” Wilson says quietly.  
  
 House reaches out and toys with a cookie for a moment. “What about a compromise?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Well – it's basically just about the sex, right?” House swallows. “What if we just screwed for a week? We get it out of our systems and then after we go back to the way we were.”


	13. Written by Flywoman

To his horror, Wilson starts chuckling, and it may be the saddest goddamned sound that he has ever heard.  
  
"What? _What?_ "  
  
Wilson shakes his head. "House... that may be the dumbest idea I've heard from you in... well, ever." He laughs again, painfully.  
  
"What, why? It makes perfect sense. We just... do the experiment, get rid of this, this tension between us, and then..."  
  
"House." Wilson stills him with a hand on his knee, shocking both of them, then withdraws again almost instantly. "It's not going to work. Oh," he says, holding up a hand to forestall any protests as House opens his mouth, "I understand why you suggested it. You've provided ample proof of your ability to compartmentalize sex and... love. But I can't do that. I'm... just not wired that way."  
  
"You're such a girl," House mutters, but his heart isn't in it. His heart, in fact, is thudding like a motherfucker, because he has failed. This was the one idea he had to offer, and Wilson doesn't need to say anything else to convince him that it won't work.  
  
But he does anyway. "And even if I were, how the hell would that be anything but cruel? Give me a taste of what I want from you, just enough to show me how wonderful it could be between us, and then, after a week, yank it all away? No thanks." He looks away, then back at House with an intensity that makes him shiver. "Sorry, but you're going to have to do better than that."


	14. Written by Menolly

House returns Wilson's stare, his heart still thudding in his chest. He's going to lose everything. Wilson is fixated on them being together, and if House says no then Wilson is going to go under, he's already shown that. And if he says yes, if he takes the plunge off the balcony into the water below, well, it will end in disaster, just as every other good thing in his life always has. He'll lose Wilson, either way he'll lose Wilson. They've gone too far down this road, there's no stuffing the genie back in the bottle now.  
  
"It's not just sex, House. I don't believe it's just sex for you either. You told your mother that you love me. Is that true?"  
  
He wants to scream denial but he can't, loving Wilson is a part of him, a part he's buried for a long time.  
  
He looks away from Wilson, over the garden to the flower bed that Wilson has apparently been ridding of weeds. The flowers sit up neatly now, healthy and thriving.   
  
"Yes," he mutters.  
  
"Why didn't you ever tell me?"  
  
He remembers when he did, lying in a hospital bed, in pain, having nearly died. He'd told Wilson then, but the other man had shrugged it off, like House had intended him to.  
  
"I...hurt people Wilson, I hurt the people in my life. You've said it yourself. I cause misery. Look what happened this time, I...I tried to kill myself and you end up in a hospital bed doing the same thing. If I'm with you I'll end up hurting you, if I won't be with you you're going to hurt yourself."  
  
"If I'm going to be hurt either way why don't we give it a try, at least we can have a bit of fun first," Wilson says, forcing a smile but House shakes his head.  
  
"You should get your stuff out of storage, go make a fresh start somewhere else, away from me. Find yourself another girl."  
  
"I don't want another girl, I want you."  
  
House shakes his head again and they sit in silence for a while until Wilson speaks again, his voice gentle.  
  
"Tell me what happened with Tom."  
  
"God Wilson, it doesn't matter, it's ancient history,. I was fourteen!"  
  
"He kissed you, and...you hated it?"  
  
House remembers that kiss, that moment of pure pleasure. He shakes his head.  
  
"No, it was good. It was great. But...I freaked out, I thought guys didn't....I pushed him. He fell down some rocks, had to be rescued, taken to hospital."  
  
"That...that was the kid you told me about, who was injured and the janitor saved him? When you decided to become a doctor?"  
  
"You're missing the point Wilson - I pushed him and he nearly died. My best friend, my only friend, and I nearly killed him. Then he told his parents, and well...we weren't friends after that. Are you getting the metaphor here Wilson, or do I have to spell it out?"  
  
"He nearly died because you pushed him away House, not because he kissed you. Don't push me away House."  
  
House stares at the ground and Wilson puts a hand on his knee again, leaving it there this time.  
  
"You asked me for time before. I think...I think I can give you that time now. Things have become a bit clearer since I came here. I've...we've waited for this for years, we can wait a while longer. But I want you to move back into the loft. I'll get my stuff back out of storage and you move in. We both have...well we both have problems, issues, and I don't think either of us should be alone, not now."  
  
"And if I don't ever want to screw you?"  
  
He  hears Wilson swallow heavily.  
  
"I don't know House, I can't make promises, I can't help how I feel, I don't know what I'll do but I'll survive. I'm not going to fall down those rocks, House."  
  
House looks down at the hand on his knee, back up at Wilson, sitting so close to him. For one wild moment he wants to grab hold of him, show Wilson just how he feels and how much he means to him. Instead he tightens his grip on his cane and takes the plunge into the water below.  
  
"Okay," he says.


	15. Written by Flywoman

House had expected his friend to launch an all-out charm offensive as soon as he got him into his clutches, and for their first few days back, he braces himself accordingly. But Wilson's behavior is no different from when he last lived in the loft, and the surprise of this throws House off balance. By the fourth day, he can no longer keep his mouth shut.  
  
"Wilson," he sneers, leaning against the kitchen counter and rapping the man sharply on the calf with his cane, "I see what you're doing."  
  
"Cooking dinner?" Wilson responds with a maddeningly bland expression as he continues to chop carrots. The sight of his smooth hand sliding along the orange length causes House to swallow and scowl.  
  
"You're trying to be normal around me. Knock it off, it's unnerving."  
  
"I'm sorry if my normality alarms you."  
  
"You're restricting your alcohol intake. Avoiding any physical contact. And parading around the place with all those clothes. For Chrissake, at least take your tie off."  
  
"I never paraded around in front of you any less than fully clothed before," Wilson says neutrally. "Unless you count the last bachelor party you threw me."  
  
"You're acting like nothing has changed between us."  
  
"Is this where you accuse me of being sexually repressed and in denial?"  
  
"Nope," House snaps. "This is where I accuse you of being a manipulative bitch."  
  
The knife stops moving then, and Wilson's grip tightens on the last carrot, his lips curving in a small smile. "I'm just trying to back off so that you don't feel like you're under any pressure." He tilts his head and looks at House sidelong. "This is what's bothering you? Anyone would think that you _wanted_ me to try to get into your pants."


	16. Written by Menolly

House scowls, damn but Wilson is a manipulative bitch. He'd steeled himself to resist Wilson's charm but this 'hands off' thing is driving him mad. Wilson is standing there, a little smile on his lips, that totally innocent expression on his face, like he can't possibly imagine what House's problem is. And his hand is stroking that damned carrot, up and down, tenderly. House swallows and shifts his position. Bitch! Wilson is an absolute bitch, a stupid, charming, ridiculously good looking bitch.    
  
House feels his calm rational plans for the future dissolve, he knows that this may not be a good idea, that it could end in disaster, he knows that he's the one who asked for time, but Wilson is still stroking that damned carrot and House is going to explode if he doesn't do something about it.  
  
He closes the gap between them, takes the knife out of Wilson's unresisting hand and lays it carefully aside. Brings Wilson's other hand to his mouth and slowly licks the length of the carrot, his eyes never leaving Wilson's. Wilson's eyes have opened wide and House can hear his breathing gain pace, can see the evidence of arousal. That smug little smile has gone from Wilson's lips, good.  
  
"This is what I want."  
  
He gently open Wilson's fingers, releasing his death grip on the carrot and it falls to the floor.  
  
"Dinner can wait."


	17. Written by Flywoman

Wilson licks his lips, just the tip of his tongue darting out, and swallows. House notes his nervousness with no small degree of satisfaction; he's called Wilson's bluff, and the other man is clearly at a loss. "Wh- what are you-"  
  
House sees his opening and takes it.  
  
Wilson smells faintly of the herbs he's been using for tonight's stew and tastes like the rich red wine he's been sipping and adding to the sauce. He's so startled that his tongue is clumsy at first, his hands shooting out to grab House's biceps for balance. House pushes him back into the counter, deliberately pressing his pelvis against Wilson's; he can feel the stirrings of a hard-on. He pulls their hands down, leans back a little, and puts Wilson's palm crudely on his own crotch.  
  
"You're serious," Wilson says. His eyes are enormous.  
  
"Damned straight," House assures him, roughly nuzzling his neck.  
  
"I'm thinking not so much," Wilson gasps, his fingers clenching involuntarily in the fabric of House's pants.  
  
"Oh, _you_ ," House grins, and begins unbuttoning Wilson's shirt with more enthusiasm than skill. There's a faint _ping_ as one of them pops off and plummets to the floor.  
  
"Let me do that," Wilson protests, looking as though he might be about to bend down and begin searching for the stray.  
  
"Your hands have better things to do," House smirks, thrusting his hips a little. Happily Wilson catches on and starts massaging him tentatively through his pants. Whatever doubts House might have had about this idea disappear almost immediately; Wilson standing there in front of him, panting with shallow wine-scented breaths, Wilson with his long, gentle fingers cupping him, _squeezing_ him, turns out to be the hottest thing that he could have imagined. He closes his eyes and allows himself a low moan.  
  
 _"Jesus,"_ Wilson says, jumping a little. _Relax,_ House wants to tell him, _you're doing great,_ but the novelty would probably just freak his friend out even more. He settles for grinding himself against Wilson's hand and lowering his lips to the exposed throat instead. Wilson makes a small sound of surprise as House brushes against his skin, then settles in and sucks hard.  
  
He's humming a little, running his hands up under the back of Wilson's shirt, when the other man whimpers. "House," Wilson says in a strained voice, "are we gonna _9 1/2 Weeks_ it, or can we get our asses into the bedroom before I ruin my best pair of pants?"


	18. Written by cuddyclothes

“You _would_ want to go in the bedroom,” House says with a smirk. “Have some imagination, Wilson, we’ve got this big kitchen island right here—“  
  
With House grinding against him, Wilson can barely think through the fog of _yes yes yes want it oh god please want it_. “It’s not like in the movies--we could throw our backs out--I have to turn off the burner.”  
  
“Oh, God.” There is a touch of resignation in House’s voice but he goes back to sucking on Wilson’s neck. House pushes Wilson’s hand away and pushes his crotch into Wilson’s, making Wilson gasp and his knees go weak. He’s wanted it for so long, and now it’s happening and it’s even better than the fantasies he’s jerked off to. Still, he reaches over and turns off the burner.  
  
“Don’t want to ruin your best pants.” With a smooth motion, House undoes the buckle of Wilson’s belt, and then slides the belt slowly, sensuously through Wilson’s belt loops. Wilson almost swoons at the feeling of the belt sliding around his waist.  He goes to unbutton his pants, but House slaps his hand away and does it himself, simultaneously tugging down the front of Wilson’s briefs. Wilson’s engorged cock springs out, straight up. House stares down at it, momentarily transfixed.  
  
“I—I never thought it would be so beautiful,” he murmurs, half to himself.  He gently touches it as if it was a precious, breakable object. Wilson starts shaking all over, but wills himself not to come.  Not now, after all of these years, he’s not going to ejaculate like a teenage boy being blown for the first time. House continues to fondle Wilson’s cock experimentally, watching him closely to see how he reacts. Of course he would do that, it’s how he is. Wilson looks at him.  
  
“House, I can’t stand this—“  
  
“Yes, you can. Think about your mom. Not _my_ mom.” Why is it so easy for House to take over a situation he’s avoided so long?  
  
With a triumphant look, a small tip of his tongue protruding out of the side of his mouth, House eases himself away from Wilson, leans against the island and undoes his jeans, revealing dark green briefs and a large straining bulge.  
  
“Better than a carrot,” House teases, and pulls down the briefs, revealing an impressive dick and curly brown pubic hair shot with white hairs. It’s almost comic, two men standing in the kitchen with their pants around their ankles. But it’s so hot, House is even larger than imagined, and he’s grinning this easy grin, his blue eyes clouded with lust, his features softened with want.  
  
Wilson kneels down, his friend towering over him, and undoes the laces of House’s sneakers. “You’ll fall down like that,” Wilson says.

House strokes Wilson’s hair with his long musician’s fingers. “Only you would care about me falling over right now,” he says, no mockery in his tone. Wilson leans his head against House’s good thigh, and takes off the sneakers, then the black socks. House wobbles a bit but keeps leaning against the counter for balance.  
  
The sight of House’s toes fills Wilson with a sudden impulse. After wiping House’s right foot off with a sock, Wilson takes House’s toes into his mouth, shocked at how erotic it is, but at the same time trying not to breathe through his nose. He feels House sway above him. Glancing up, he sees House hanging onto the counter for dear life, eyes squeezed shut in pleasure.  
  
“Oh, Jesus, Wilson,” he moans. “You are a real perv. Don’t stop. Do anything you want."  
  
It takes everything Wilson has not to come right then and there.


	19. Written by cellista_in_c

To distract himself Wilson suckles House's toes, wriggling his tongue as House makes interesting high-pitched noises above him. He laves attention on each one, then glides his tongue along the arch of House's foot. It flexes in his grasp, the toes curling as he slides his lips up the inside of House's ankle. He sucks hard on the hollow there, circling the tip of his tongue over the area. The response is gratifying – House gasps out an approximation of Wilson's name, fingers twisting in Wilson's hair. He glances up at House kneading his crotch.  
  
He pulls back a bit. “No touching,” he says, pinning House's hand against the counter edge.  
  
House moans loudly. “Not nice, Wilson, Christ, please...”  
  
“Jew,” Wilson quips before turning his attention back to House's ankle, pushing House's pants off to free the leg. He moves his lips up the inside of House's calf, the sparse hair there brushing his nose as he works his way up, and pauses to bite lightly at the back of House's knee.  
  
He's aching, desperate, and releases House's wrist to drop his hand to his lap, rubbing hard, just once, between his legs.  
  
“Need a hand?” House asks breathlessly, and Wilson's notices that he's kept his hand where Wilson pinned it.  
  
“In a minute,” Wilson pants, biting his lip to keep from coming all over House's feet and his just-mopped floor. He moves his hands to House's knees, parting them a little, leaning in to suck at a spot on the inside of House's good thigh as he shifts about, preparing for his next move.  
  
“Ready?”  
  
“What are you – !” House yelps as Wilson gets his arms under House's thighs and pushes up to his feet. Fortunately House catches on quickly, hoisting himself onto the island.  
  
“Thought you were worried about throwing out our backs doing it here?” House asks, raising an eyebrow and spreading his legs wider as Wilson insinuates himself between them.  
  
“We'll get to the bedroom in a minute,” Wilson mutters, pressing his lips to House's neck.  
  
House groans, cupping the back of Wilson's head to push him down harder. “More,” he manages to get out. “I'm okay finishing out here.”  
  
“No supplies out here,” while licking over House's clavicle.  
  
House pulls his face up for a bruising kiss that leaves them breathless. He pulls Wilson flush, sliding their cocks together, shoving the shirt off Wilson's shoulders, making Wilson moan and push back. “Olive oil.”  
  
 “That's high-end stuff, I'm not...god!...not using that to get off.”  
  
“Who the fuck cares, it would be worth it! C'mon,” whines House, running his hands frantically up and down Wilson's flanks. “Don't make me wait.”  
  
“We're not having sex in my kitchen.” Wilson drags up the hem of House's shirt and ducks his head to close his lips around a nipple, leaning House backwards as he bends further over him.  
  
House grunts as he falls back on an elbow, face flushed, arching under Wilson's ministrations and wrapping his good leg over Wilson's waist. “You mean OUR kitchen. And wanna bet?” His hand sneaks down between them.


	20. Written by Flywoman

Wilson was perfectly serious about the olive oil, but as soon as House's hand closes around his cock, any objections to desecrating his nice clean kitchen abruptly become irrelevant. And it doesn't look like any additional lubrication is going to be necessary, because _holy crap_ , a few more strokes and he is definitely going to come all over House's hand and his own half-undone pants. He moans around House's hard little nipple, his hips jerking up involuntarily.  
  
House's heel digs into the small of Wilson's back as he struggles to keep his balance, his chin resting on the top of his friend's head. "Atta boy," he murmurs encouragingly.  
  
Wilson squeezes his eyes shut and presses his sweaty face into House's chest. " _God... guh.. uh_..." and his whole body suddenly gives in, shuddering helplessly against House's. He's literally seeing stars, his knees have turned to jelly, and If he weren't already leaning against House and the counter at a dangerous angle, he would definitely fall to the floor.  
  
House has his other arm around Wilson's shoulders, steadying him while he wicks the last few shivers of pleasure out of his dick. He's mumbling something, soft nonsensical words that would sound suspiciously like endearments if this were anyone else but House.  
  
When Wilson's finally standing more or less upright on his own two feet again, House releases him and leans back, bracing himself on his dry  hand and slowly stroking his swollen cock with the other.  
  
"Hey," Wilson sputters, "stop playing with my toys," and he bends forward and licks a long stripe up, then wraps his fingers around House's length and his lips around the sensitive head.  
  
House's eyes roll back, and he clutches at Wilson's shoulder for support. He's biting his lower lip to keep from crying out, perspiration beading on his forehead, when Wilson pauses to look anxiously up at him. "Don't... fucking... _stop_ ," he manages to grind out.  
  
Wilson swirls his tongue, thinking that this is not unlike sucking House's toe, salty and surprisingly sexy, except that his mouth must stretch to accommodate his friend's startling size. He picks up the pace, wincing a little as House gets a death grip on his shoulder.  
  
"Wilson," House tries to warn him, "I can't... I'm gonna..." and suddenly bitter musk and warmth flood Wilson's mouth as House shouts and bucks above him, fingers convulsing, heel beating an ecstatic tattoo on his back. He swallows immediately, no mess, no fuss, but keeps his lips closed around House's cock, until he's pushed away with a sated shudder.  
  
House is blinking at him, looking dazed but triumphant. "God, Wilson, that was..." He swipes at his sweaty forehead and grins. "All those histrionics about not being able to go on without me, and then I was the one who had to take charge of everything. Even thought you were gonna lose your nerve for a minute there."  
  
"Yeah," Wilson says, a small smile forming on his lips. And then, out of the corner of his mouth, _"Owned."_


End file.
